


Crooked Mind

by Dainslaif



Series: Covered in Cowardice [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: FML, Finals Week, I'm totally losing my mind, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Spoilers, Post return to Storybrooke, Stop making stupid tags idiot, They do it, This is finally freaking done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dainslaif/pseuds/Dainslaif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Pan often came to visit Hook in his dreams, but never had it felt so real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked Mind

The drink had been enough to see him stumble down the halls of Granny’s bed and breakfast, throwing his body against the door and drunkenly fumbling with the key to the room. There was no way with Pan’s shadow locked into his sail he could possibly get a wink of sleep—the fray and struggle he had witnessed back on that devil’s island burned forever in the back of his mind. In the back of his mind so many memories drudged up better left untouched and unremembered.

Regardless he so desperately needed to be away from his ship, a thought he never believed he would dare think. But it was how he found himself face planted in a bed not his own, not even bothering to remove neither his jacket nor his boots, cradling the pillow for dear life. It hadn’t hurt that Tinkerbelle decided to reside there for the evening herself, just down the hall. She was certainly a tidy lass, for a faerie. Former faerie, as the case may be made, and given her penchant to help people—so his intentions weren’t wholly pure, but such was the life of a pirate.

Neither good nor evil, simply a suspended grey area; he had a heart, but he also had his needs and was hardly above them to play them down to come across as a good man; that was for the likes of men like Charming. He had done his wrongs, he had enjoyed their moments—some more than others. Milah, for example; he hadn’t the foggiest why he had to be attracted to such unobtainable partners—Milah had been married, Emma was locked in battle over her inner demons with Baelfire, and then Tinkerbelle—the not-faerie faerie. Obviously he enjoyed the challenge, the sense of wrongness being with such a partner. He enjoyed a bit of action.

The admission makes his skin crawl and a shadow of a smirk tug on the corners of his lips. No, he revelled in action, the fight. 

It was because of that need to challenge authority that meant it only a matter of time before the last of the walls fell and everything from Neverland came back to haunt him even in his nightly dreams. A night of celebration and returning an awkward mess of buzz and adrenalin—alone; it assuredly was not his preferred way to sleep, but he had since long grown used to the macabre cold of a lonely bed.

He holds the pillow tighter and closes his eyes—he was out in just under a minute.

And it was then he could be the most honest with himself, something he could never be in the waking world. He held up his mask, kept secrets close to his heart that he would dare not share with another soul. Prime material for the Echo cave, as it were. There was still another unobtainable beauty in his life—the one that had been there the longest and carried the hardest stigma and deepest scar; the face of a true villain, a sociopath with ice in his veins and fire in his eyes.

A soft rustle is what stirs him from his slumber, the moon hanging low in the sky and brightening his room just enough to see more than just shadows and shapes. He blinks several times slowly; giving chase to the sleep that plagues his eyes, as he sits up and drapes his left arm across his lap and rubbing his tired eyes with his right hand, coming to pinch the bridge of his nose and fight off his impending headache. His head felt as though it was weighted down by a rock and nausea churns his stomach, making his face grow pale.

Water, that was what he needed. He moves to his feet only to be struck by a dizzy spell and back onto the bed his so tumbles, vertigo prompting him to shut his eyes and breath deep to quell the nausea once again. It wasn’t possible for even the strongest booze the diner carried to knock him on his back so easily; there so much more to this game than met the eye. And though he could scarcely make out the sounds of feet scuffing the wooden floor he knew he would be at the mercy of one very volatile prince.

Before he could comment, or question, or anything he felt the smug grin burn his skin; oh how he knew that grin, better than he cared to admit.

“Hello again, Captain. Miss me?”

Hook exhales slowly, his steady and even breaths betraying his calm. “Is this a dream?” he whispers to the figure looming over him. He vehemently refuses to open his eyes, out of fear? No, it was mostly out of spite. He wanted so badly to hate the sly devil.

“No.” he feels the bed shift, the boy sitting beside him.

He pales further between the answer and the fact that the intruder was right beside him, but he does nothing to shift away. He had a health fear of Pan, but not so much that he would shrink away from him; he would never be so cowardly. “Why are you here?”

“Since the moment you landed on Neverland all those years ago you never left,” spidery fingers begin to brush through his hair, a feeling so familiar. It held a calming effect that makes the pirate sigh again, though this time far more in bliss. “You’ve become a part of me, my precious Captain.”

“This is a dream,” Hook presses, eyes still shut out of the dread of opening them and facing the harrowing reality, to dare look into those dark eyes that haunted him. “You’re trapped in Pandora’s Box, in Rumplestiltskin’s shop. Your shadow is trapped in the sail of my ship. My ship! This can’t be real…”

“It’s as real as you want it to be, captain. Anything can be real if you wish it hard enough.” He could hardly tell if the voice was meant to soothe or taunt, but that had always been a part of Peter Pan’s charm. It was the thing that attracted the Captain, above all else. Someone unafraid to take command and challenge; Hook had a way with words, but so did Pan—to the point where even he could stop and listen.

“Not in this world,” he scoffs, long fingers still raking through his hair and keeping his nausea at bay. “And I would never wish for you. A treacherous spriggan, a demon.”

“That isn’t entire true, now is it? You are plagued by demons. Plagued by Milah, the love you were unable to protect. Plagued by Emma, the woman you believe brought you back from the dead and stopped you on your fool’s errand of revenge. Plagued by Tinkerbelle, the buxom blonde with a heart too big and only using her as a way to get Emma to notice you and a way to warm your bed.” The figure looms closer, soft breath rolling against his skin and making him gasp. “But above them all is me, placed up high on a pedestal you pray to never reach again. I’m watching you, Captain. I will always be watching you, no matter whose arms you attempt to hide away in, no matter what rat hole you crawl your way into… I will find you, and I will protect you.”

Hook feels the soft brush of lips against his forehead and his breathes a shuddery breath, holding back a whirlwind of emotion. “Pan…” he finally dared to open his eyes and narrowly holds back his gasp. There he was, the sly bastard himself, sitting there beside him and stroking his hair as though there was no care in the world to be given, that he wasn’t supposed to be trapped inside a box. Hook couldn’t tell if it was a nightmare or reality. “Protect me from what?” he dares to ask.

“From yourself, your self-destructive habit. I can make you forget all the others, we can be together. You could rule the new Neverland with me and we could be happy.” Slowly Peter’s agile fingers move lower to trace Hook’s stubbly jaw, perfect lips tugged into a smirk once more. “Wouldn’t you like that, Killian? Just you and I, kings… together.”

Burying itself beneath the haughty nonchalance Hook could hear the hope. It pains his heart to remain hopelessly deadlocked between the ‘no’ his last true semblance of honour told him to say and the truth of the whole matter nestled. How he wanted it, to be by Peter’s side, to not have him placed up on some pedestal—but wait… “New Neverland?” His eyes lock with Peter’s, questioning.

“I don’t want to grow up, Killian. And I don’t want you to grow old, become a shell of the man you once were.” His fingers begin to trace Hook’s bottom lip and without thought the pirate kisses the soft pads of the boy’s fingers. “To create a new Neverland where I am in charge is the only way we could ever be happy, the only way you and I could ever be together.”

“What about these people here, the people here in Storybrooke, what would happen to them? Peter, these people—“

“Tried to execute me and when that didn’t fit into their moral codes sought to put me into a box!” Hook hardly flinches from Peter’s outburst, instead reaching up and brushing his knuckles over the soft jaw of his companion. He had grown used to Peter’s temper over the years spent in Neverland. “Killian, do you hate me so much that you would be so eager to keep me in a box until the end of Rumplestiltskin’s days? By the time his life ticked to a close and leave this plane of existence you would be grey, and I would still look like this. We couldn’t be together then…”

“We can’t be together now,” Hook closes his eyes again, unable to look at Peter as he rejects him. “You’re young, far too young for me. We were never meant to meet, much less be…” No matter how desperately their hearts may have wished it; they were of different times. If only he knew how truly complicated it was, the web Peter Pan had weaved.

“No I’m not! I’m older than you remember?” Peter protests, his voice cutting into the thick, quiet night air and making Hook’s head drum in protest against his skull. “We were meant for each other, Killian!”

Desperately attempting to soothe the raging boy, to keep their rendezvous hidden and Pan safely away from the eyes of the others—despite the logical part of his mind reminding him it was just a dream—he presses his fingers against Peter’s lips to hush him. “No we weren’t,” and despite every fibre of his body warning him against it, he snakes his hand around the back of Peter’s hand and pulls him into a hard kiss. It was just a dream. How could it be anything but? And in dreams he was allowed to do what he wanted, have what he wanted, and damn the consequences. In his dreams he could have Peter Pan if he so chose—it had been far too long since he had allowed to indulge himself last.

The kiss is returned in kind, passionate and needy. The kind of kiss Hook remembers from dreams past, only with a hint of something more. Each kiss such fiery bliss without a damn given to the world—fun, excitement, the thrill of the forbidden; a real taste of evil in Hook’s normally grey world. 

Without hesitation the boy moves to straddle the pirate’s lap and more excitement burned in Hook’s skin. So long he wanted it again. It could never have been real; reality was cruel that way, however dreams granted him all the autonomy he relished to have. 

Unlike dreams previous Peter grinds against him, the not so innocent action sending shockwaves of pleasure to tingle along his spine and pool in the pit of his stomach; Peter could ignite a fire in Hook like no other. A boy just barely on the cusp of manhood was his weakness—the villain and the scoundrel. It was as though fate brought them together only to taunt the one with any honour left, to grant him such electric connection and remind him in the same breath that it was wrong.

That knowledge makes Hook moan and pine for more as he bucks his hips upward. He could feel that smirk against his lips and the hands tangling in his hair and it felt so good…

He tightens his hold on the back of Peter’s head, tugging on the golden locks as he slings his left arm around the boy’s waist. He pulls their bodies’ flush and only then break for air; for all Hook’s usual indifference it took all he had to not gasp for more and from Peter all he heard was a faint, “Yes we are,” before their mouths meld into another kiss.

In it Killian pours every emotion he could remember from his time in Neverland—the pain, the pleasure, the high and lows, the desperation and need—the fear and constant threat of danger. Back when he naively thought that revenge could sate the burning in his chest and mend the hole in his heart. Back when he foolishly thought that love could never reside in his heart again. Peter drank every emotion in and returns them in kind, his smirk gone and stripping himself of all usual arrogance to be left with nothing to shield him—shield either of them. No more masks, no more barricades. It was just them.

But it was only a dream. The connection Hook felt did not truly exist no matter how greatly he wished. He feels his heart twist. This was as good as it got for a villain and a pirate. No happy endings. Not even in his dreams.

As Peter’s hand left his hair Hook closes his eyes again, instead choosing to feel as the boy’s hands travel down his shoulders and chest, testing and probing the whole way down. Hook couldn’t help but do the same, marvelling every dip and deceptively toned muscle. Stars it felt so real, even the warmth beneath his hand… he comes to a rest on the belt, thumbing the buckle and tugging the leather strap with a grunt. It troubles him only slightly how adept he had become at doing such activities, even in the waking world, single-handedly.

The belt is dropped to the floor with a clatter and he breaks the kiss again and breathes a soft chuckle at the unabashed sound of the boy’s whimper of protest. He says nothing, choosing to target the boy’s neck in an alternating pattern of nips and kisses. Each one eliciting some new sound of enjoyment from the boy that makes the pirate’s skin crawl in delight. They had some addictive quality that begs Hook to seek more, and so he did.

Each mewl was like a new chapter in a book he simply couldn’t put down, clinging to each word with bated breath and the thirst to taste more. Faintly he could hear Peter coo, “Good boy,” and he smirks before nipping the youthful skin. “Pirate,” he whispers against the warm flesh as thought to correct the boy.

“But you’re my pirate,” the words were like a hiss, hot breath rolling against his ear and fuelling his need. “Savvy?”

Hook bites back a smirk. “Savvy.”

Peter pulls away and Hook attempts to make a grab for him, his hand smacked away with a disapproving noise from the boy, a finger wagging in his face. “No, no Captain. Lay still.” He flashes a cruel grin, a mixture of displeasure and excitement swelling within the wanton pirate.

The boy shifts down, down, down—finally coming to rest just below Hook’s knees, his hands playing with the fastening of the pirate’s belt and pants with earnest purposefulness that sees to Hook raising a brow, propping himself up onto his elbows to watch the curious show. Peter says nothing as he jerks the loosened pants down, only expects Hook to comply—to which he does without question.

His hand was the first thing to touch the in, Hook doing all in his power to contain the moan when wood worn hands touch his quietly throbbing need, the evidence of his desire—both worldly and unworldly—presented for them both to see. It was still only half hardened, but it certainly was enough to make the prince grin and more than enough for him to get a feel for Hook’s ‘size’. The idea makes the pirate give an embarrassing chuckle; he was hardly what he would call big, but he was certainly nothing to scoff at—and more than knowledgeable in how to use it.

“Fun,” Peter whispers and bends down to kiss the silken head. Hook’s hip twitch and he chuckles deeply. Never in his dreams had Peter been so forthright. He usually had some virginal quality or another that led to coaxing—and the occasional half-truth. But this Peter… this Peter he likes.

“It can be,” he agrees as the new attention to himself makes him swell. Peter’s tongue flicks out to caress the growing length, his licks experimental and broken up by gentle kisses unbecoming of Pan. Strange sensations pulse through Hook again, ones he never felt before. His hands grasp violently at the sheets whilst his hook digs into the mattress, tearing a hole—for a moment he grouses on how he would have to pay for the damages before he remembers it was nothing more than a dream. A good dream.

Peter hums before he slides Hook’s need into his mouth as far as he could take him, Hook uttering a slew of curses and bucking his hips only to be stopped short by Peter’s hands forcing him back down onto the bed. He could feel the smirk as he watches the boy’s head bob along his length until his eyes went cross and he fell onto the bed, allowing the boy to torment him. 

He had great head before, but this by far blew it all out of the water; that devilish tongue could do far more than just talk, it seems, as the boy licks and sucks and bobs, each small movement curling Hook’s toes and making him feel as though his blood at turned to fire as he threatens to spill. On the cusp between frustration and bliss the ministrations stop and Hook’s eyes fly open, believing his dream had final come to when he sees Peter moving to his feet to kick off his shoes.

The boy was already working on getting his pants off when Hook finally opens his mouth. “What?” was all he could growl, cock twitching as he is assaulted by cool air. Peter simply gives him a crude smirk and taps his finger to his lips. Although questions burn him, Hook promptly shuts up and watches as Peter kicks away his pants, left in nothing but his loose tunic and blasted cuffs that Hook had no idea why he wore.

Returning to his spot on Hook’s lap the man immediately makes the connection and his mouth damn near waters. Yes, this Peter he likes very much. “Lay down,” Peter purrs, hands resting on Hook’s chest and guiding him to lay back. “You needn’t worry about hurting me, Captain.”

Hook did as he was told with a smile that could rival the Cheshire cat’s, eyes honing in between Peter’s own legs with both hunger and curiosity. He was a finely enough endowed boy, thicker than Hook had expected. He reaches forward, ignoring Peter slapping his hand away and gently fisting the length, an eager and appreciative noise squeaking from the boy.

“Let go,” Peter whines a moment later, the warm member pulsing in his hand and screaming for Hook to do the exact opposite.

“I don’t think I will, love.” With a smug purring noise he tilts his hips upward and squeezes the hard cock.

Peter whines again but says no more, reaching his hand around his back to steady Hook and ease himself down. Neither was prepared for it in spite of their enthusiasm, both shivering messes as they settle and so damningly slowly Peter impales himself on the pirate’s need. He was tight, hot and far too real… Hook nearly screams for how too real it all felt.

The process was slow, the further the boy let in the less control he had over himself. He moves his hand to rest on Hook’s stomach, nails biting into the leather vest and just trying to keep his breath. The pirate himself did all he could to mollify the pain, hand stroking the boy’s need and breathing sweet nothings that bring a smile to those pained brown eyes.

Even once Peter had taken him wholly the sweet nothings did not stop, each pet name, each compliment of Peter’s body and mind whispering a nugget of truth; buried beneath it all the faint whisper of, “I love you.” Even in his dreams Hook could lie to himself, tell himself that the feelings he had were nothing short of sexual high wrought on by one too many drinks and erotic dream about the most untouchable being in his life.

Hook’s head spun as Peter ever so slowly rode him, leaving the pirate to concentrate on nothing but Peter and the way their bodies just fit. He marvels and clings to every sound, praying he would remember them come morning. Neither one spoke beyond moans—Hook didn’t trust himself and Pan because… Pan was a figment of his imagination.

It hardly took long; Peter riding him hard and fast and biting back screams of pleasure as he thoroughly fucks himself the way he wants, repeatedly hitting a singular spot inside himself with such vigour that Hook near blushed at the boy’s frenzy. Minutes, at most, past and the boy shook and choke a whine before he all but stops and doubles over Hook, panting and clinging to the pirate’s jacket as he dirties their clothing with his seed, uncaring of it at all.

His own climax was sweet, the long waited end comforting to his ravaged soul and filling Peter with little more than an exhaustive sigh from the boy. Hook lay there in the flotsam and jetsam of his own mind—this usually was the point he woke up, during the cuddling. Peter continues to breathe, head resting against Hook’s chest—possibly asleep? No. It was a dream. It had to be one…

Had to be... a fog settles in his mind and the nausea takes over once more, his eyes drifting close.

He awakes with a starts, drenched in a cold sweat and his heart beating frantically in his chest—threatening to burst. His eyes lock on to ethereal eyes almost instantly, soulless pools of the Shadow outlined by the pallor glow of them moon. His heart slowly quiets as he stares, the Shadow’s fingers poise halfway to reach for Hook’s jaw. Unlike the previous confrontations with the Shadow of Pan, this one holds something deeper to it; however like all those previous moments in time it still left Hook gasping for breath.

He opens his mouth to speak and before even a word could escape his lips the Shadow makes an ungodly sound, a scream that chills Hook’s blood, and shrinks into the shadows where it belongs. “Wait!” Hook stumbles from the bed, feet crossing and causing him to tumble to the floor in a winded gasp.

Just like his dream he could not distinguish fiction from reality. He sit ups and runs his hand through his hair, only narrowly does he choke back a sob. How much had he to drink? When had he become such a lightweight?

…When had be become so lost?

He came by no sleep the rest of the night, resting against the bed and staring at the opposite wall as if it held the secret to life and only too stubborn to give it up. The moon gave way to dawn, as it always did, but the dawn did not rise in his soul, his confusion did not ebb. 

Peter Pan was locked away—the Shadow safely tucked away into the sail of his ship with only Pan having the power to release it—it could not have been Pan’s shadow in his room, tormenting him in his dreams. It had just been a dream—just a dream… And when he finally could no longer stand staring at the wall he leaves the room, purposefully ignoring the bed and already knowing he would owe the old woman something for the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Finals week, eugh. This was almost painful to write because I didn't know how the hell I wanted it to end but I felt it my duty to post something, so I worked really fucking hard and I finally fucking made this piece of shit. Good luck with your finals, everybody! Bring home those A's and I hope you enjoyed. Now to finish the other 90 Captain Pan one-shots I have crowding up my HDD space, right?


End file.
